


Pretext

by AngelofDarkness1605



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-14
Updated: 2015-04-14
Packaged: 2018-03-22 22:56:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3746680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelofDarkness1605/pseuds/AngelofDarkness1605
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mr. Gold can't help but comply when Belle French asks for a highly unusual favor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pretext

"What can I do for you, Miss French?" Mr. Gold asks when the librarian enters his shop along with a gust of chilly wind, doing his very best not to stare – or worse – at the sight of her, all flushed cheeks, tousled hair and bright eyes.

"I've got a favor to ask you," she says, the nerves in her voice audible.

"I see."

His reply may sound as casual as possible, but the pawnbroker feels anything but. The black shards which are left of his heart ache at the realization that she doubtlessly had this in mind from the very beginning, when she matter-of-factly sat down at the ever empty space opposite him at his usual table at Granny's.

After all, there's no other reason whatsoever for her to be nice and kind to him, to give him smiles and occasional winks, to touch him and, on four heavenly occasions, wrap her arms around him and pull herself against him for several invaluable seconds.

He'll never admit to anyone, not to himself and particularly not to her, that he has fallen in love with her. One way or another, such a revelation could only lead to heartbreak faster than he can say 'I love you'.

"I'm afraid my request is a bit... unusual."

"I highly doubt it," he replies, already determined to grant whatever wish she has. She may have been using him, like he always should have known she was, but he was happy for it. He can only hope that she'll continue to buy his favors with her attention and affection.

"Why, Mr. Gold, you've had many women asking you to give them a hickey to keep other men at bay?"

He practically chokes on his breath at the bad joke, at the mental image of doing  _that_ to the beautiful librarian… and then the shrill, anxious edge to her voice registers in his mind, informing him that she's actually serious.

"It's just... I hope you know I only ask for this because I can't think of any other way, but Gaston has been bothering me for weeks now. No matter what I say or do, it doesn't register in that thick skull of his that I'm not interested in him  _at all_. If any other woman would want him like he claims, then why does he keep trying to get  _me_? Like I should be  _proud_ that he won't leave me alone. He doesn't even get why I become angry when he says that I shouldn't read as much as I do!"

"Gaston?" the landlord asks weakly, not knowing anyone of such name.

"That's what Ruby and I call him, because he's exactly like Gaston from Beauty and the Beast."

"I see," Mr. Gold replies, although he doesn't understand at all what she's referring to – although, now that she mentions it, he  _has_ seen a man leering at her. A man that's tall, young, strong and probably what's considered handsome... everything the landlord himself is not.

"But that's not the point. The last thing I can think of is to make him believe I already have a boyfriend. Or a girlfriend, I suppose. I don't have either, and I don't think I will have in the near future, so I'm going to have to pretend. I hope that him seeing me with a hickey that he obviously didn't cause will be enough to have him finally back off."

"I could...  _talk_ to him," the landlord offers, his mind spinning even as he taps his cane meaningfully onto the wooden floor beneath their feet. "To remind him that you aren't interested in him."

"I understand that you'd rather not touch me like that," she says, seemingly thinking that his alternate suggestion is an attempt not to discuss the actual favor she asked for. "But I really don't think that violence is the answer."

"I... I wouldn't mind at all," he blurts out, because he can't possibly let her think that  _he_ would object to such contact. "To... to touch you like that. Not at all."

"So you would do that for me, then?" she asks, beaming at him like the sun suddenly appearing from behind the clouds.

"Why  _me_?" he whispers, imagining that she must have countless people, including her female friends, with whom this would probably be considerably less unpleasant for her.

"Because I consider you my friend," she says, just as quietly. "You may not think of me in such a way, but I  _am_ very fond of you, and I trust you entirely."

Mr. Gold swallows with sudden difficulty, his throat uncomfortably dry at her seemingly sincere statement that she considers him her friend... and that she mistakes his attempt to keep some appropriate distance between them as a rejection of that friendship.

"I think of you as a friend as well, Miss French. Or at least, the closest I have to a friend." Studying her momentarily, he couldn't have denied his willingness to help her even if he would have wanted to. "I'll assist you, if you wish."

"That's... that's wonderful," she replies, sounding as if she can't quite believe that he agreed. "What do you want in return?"

"What do you mean?" he asks dumbly, still trying to process what she has asked him to do... what he just  _agreed_ to.

"If you grant me a favor, if we strike a deal... you want something in return, I presume?"

"Well, I..."

After the hundreds if not thousands of deals he has made in his increasingly considerable lifetime, he has never before been reluctant to ask for compensation. The problem is not that he doesn't know what to ask for – he knows only too well. The problem is how to  _ask_.

"Come on, out with it," she says, looking only more intently at him. "I can see you've thought of something."

"In return for my assistance, I require you to return the favor," he says, hoping that his voice betrays neither his anxiety nor his eagerness.

He can't identify the emotions that flicker over her previously unreadable face, but it's very clear that his request causes a strong reaction in her. There's no doubt in his mind that it's a negative response, for how could she possible want to touch  _him_ that way? She must be desperate enough as it is to ask for him to mark  _her_ with his mouth.

Mr. Gold can't deny – only in the safe confines of his own mind, of course – that he feels bad about failing her like this. But really, it's for the best. There must be a number of other individuals willing to help her out, people considerably more pleasant than him, people who won't in all likelihood betray their long hidden feelings for her in the process.

"Then we have a deal," she says, offering him her hand.

Thoroughly bewildered, he can only stare at her for a few long seconds. Then he shakes her hand, if somewhat reluctantly, if only because he knows that he can't go back on the deal he proposed himself only a moment ago.

He should be yet more on his guard with her than he already was, clearly having miscalculated her, but he can only watch how she heads for the door of his shop. Before the thought occurs that she has changed her mind, she flips the sign to 'closed' and locks the door before returning to him.

"There's another room in the back, isn't there?" she asks, laying her hand on his lower arm.

The pawnbroker nods dumbly in response.

"Then I suggest we go there, so no one will see or disturb us."

All he can do is follow her to the back of his shop when she guides him there.

"Well then," she says, the tremor in her voice not escaping him when she closes the door of the back room as well. "I suppose we should get started. Do you want to start with me, or shall I begin with you?"

"It seems only fair that I get to collect first in this ridiculous deal," he says, trying in vain to channel the indifferent pawnbroker whose persona usually comes so naturally to him.

"All right."

But rather than getting started, in whatever way she has in mind, all she does is look at him expectantly.

"I don't have all day," he barks out, hoping to mask his unease. "Get on with it."

"It doesn't seem to me that you're in a hurry, though," she says, not deterred at all.

"What do you mean?" he is forced to ask, not having the slightest idea what she's referring to.

"You're still covered from head to toe in at least three layers of fabric. I can't give you a hickey through your suit, or can I?"

"Of course not," he mutters, heat rushing to his cheeks.

Rather than doing as she asked, doing what is  _logical_  in this far from rational situation, he can only stand there. Overwhelmed by Miss French and her request as he is, the pawnbroker didn't realize before that their highly unusual deal would entail yet more intimacy than he initially presumed.

"Allow me?" she asks gently, her hand finding its way to his arm again.

At his slight nod, she leads him to the opposite corner of the room, to the antique full length mirror standing there.

"Just let me..."

As if it's the most natural thing in the world, she comes to stand behind him, her ridiculously high heels allowing her to take in the image of the two of them in the mirror over his shoulder while she stands behind him.

Her hands moving slowly from his shoulders to the lapels of his suit, leaving him shuddering despite his considerable efforts not to, she carefully slides the thick fabric from his shoulders, folding it neatly over a nearby chair.

His vest is next and from her position she manages to take off his tie as well. He barely notices that she struggles with the flawless knot he put in it that morning; all he can see and feel is the woman of his dreams partially undressing him, her hands gentle and warm.

She unbuttons his dress shirt with the same matter-of-factness, her gaze revealing none of the disgust he would expect anyone to experience when being in such a situation with him.

When she reaches for the hem of his gray undershirt, he is finally woken from his stupor, fully realizing at last how far this is going. Out of a never used before reflex, he takes hold of both her wrists before she can pull the fabric upwards.

"I'd say that this is quite enough," he brings out, his tone harsher than he would have liked.

"I stop if you want me to, of course. But I can hardly fulfill my end of the deal when you're covered like this, can I?"

She meaningfully strokes her finger along the spot where his shoulder meets his neck, the area mostly covered by gray cotton. Despite that, he quivers only more at the casual contact, at her apparent complete lack of hesitation to touch him like this.

"I prefer not to end up with cotton in my mouth," she says gently, her tone informing him that her preference – and thus his - is negotiable.

Incapable of speech, he nods instead to inform her of his consent. Maybe it's for the better anyway that she is going to see his bare chest; the disgust that the sight will doubtlessly evoke will drive her to hurry at the very least.

It might even cause her to cease this madness altogether, which would be yet better for as far as the pawnbroker is concerned. After all, it would enable him to get out of their deal without her knowing of the impact this has on him.

So that's why he nods again at her inquiry, watching breathlessly how she slowly but surely pulls her undershirt over her head, almost as if she's savoring the process.

"There we are," she says with something that surely isn't appreciation as she studies him from her vantage point. "That's not so bad, is it?"

Staring at her face in the mirror, he has to fight the urge not to appear any more pathetic by a vain attempt to cover himself with his arms.

Her wide eyes freely roaming over him, it wouldn't surprise him in the slightest if she'd be able to see his heart beating dangerously under his skin.

"You know, Mr. Gold, you really are quite handsome."

There's no way that she has actually said that, and no way that he can ask what she meant instead, for in that moment the impossible woman comes from behind him and moves to stand in front of him. Laying both her hands on his lower arms this time, the touch only more intense to him now that his skin there is exposed, she turns the two of them in such a way that they are at right angles to the mirror.

"Are you ready?" she asks quietly, her breath gushing over the bare side of his neck, causing goosebumps despite the warmth of it.

He nods shakily. He isn't ready in the slightest for her current nearness, let alone anything more than that, but the pawnbroker supposes that he'll never be any more prepared than he is right now.

She slowly leans in to him. Only then it dawns on him that she repositioned them in such a way that he has the best possible view on both her and what she's doing to him when she touches her lips to his skin.

That's how practically all of his senses are filled with her, the sight and feel, the sound and even the smell of her when she tenderly kisses the side of his neck.

"Is this spot all right?" she asks. It's probably only his imagination that her breath is labored and her voice hoarse, as if she's  _enjoying_  this.

He nods again, finding himself less and less capable of speech. He's somewhat aware that she has chosen a spot that will be easily covered by his dress shirt and tie, and even his undershirt. And even if she wouldn't have... well, he would wear her mark with pride, even in public.

Then he isn't capable of anything anymore, her lips and tongue caressing his skin, which turns out to be considerably more sensitive than he ever would have thought. As if her ministrations aren't overwhelming enough as they are, the top of her head is right beneath his face, her beautiful curls tickling his nose and chin.

Mr. Gold didn't know what to expect exactly, his knowledge on love bites as limited as just about any other aspect of an intimate relationship, but he most certainly wouldn't have imagined the way she just nips and licks, worshipping his skin rather than marking it.

His legs are proving to be yet more useless than usual as sensations he has never known before wash over him. It doesn't help in the slightest that he has to close his eyes, the sight of the librarian in addition to what she's doing to him simply too much to bear.

Disoriented, the pawnbroker fears that there's nothing else to it than to ask for them to sit down, to remind her yet more that he isn't worthy of her.

"Hold on to me," she suggests quietly, breaking away from his skin for just a moment, before he can start to wonder how he might suggest for them to relocate.

She takes both his hands in her own and guides them to the warmth and soft solidness of her waist. He follows her unspoken directions blindly, gratefully, finding that he feels anchored that way, despite the additional distraction that holding her like this provides.

"Better?"

"Yes," he rasps in response.

That must have been the reaction she was waiting for, because she returns her attention to his neck, lapping at the skin there, again and again. She places her hands on his waist as well, caressing him lightly in a way that has him gasping.

Mr. Gold is vaguely aware that he's groaning, and none too gently at that. There's no considering it though, no wondering whether it would be a good thing or not if it were to accidentally scare her away. He simply can't help himself, couldn't stop the physical responses she draws from him if he wanted to – and he definitely does.

But rather than discouraging her, she somehow appears to be only spurred on by his reactions, beginning to suck on his skin ever so lightly.

That's when it doesn't only become practically impossible to think, but also to regain any resemblance of self-control over himself. When her kiss becomes more... well,  _more_ , he can't help but tighten his hold on her, going as far as to pull her against him, growling as her chest brushes his.

Rather than pulling away or asking him to stop, she wraps her arms around his neck while she continues her efforts, bringing their bodies flush against one another.

He is grateful that she keeps her hands on his sides when she withdraws her face after a delightfully long time - which passed far too quickly regardless - stabilizing him. It takes him longer yet to open his eyes, the world still spinning around him in the most wonderful way possible.

"Now we wait," she says, the undeniable huskiness in her voice only making it more difficult for him to regain his composure.

Miss French doesn't appear to mind though that he can barely stand on his own legs, never taking her hands off him when she moves back around him.

Her words register more or less, but he doesn't understand the meaning of them as he stares with glassy eyes at the place where she just kissed him, the blessed spot still glistening with her saliva. All he is aware of is the way she is caressing his arms once more, repeatedly stroking from his wrists to his shoulders and back again while she rests her head against his neck.

Her gaze is still heavy on him, but it doesn't bother him as much as it did - not with never ceasing approval, no matter how undeserved, shining brightly in her eyes.

"Is there someone in your life, in this town or elsewhere, who you love like a girlfriend or a wife?" she asks quietly.

"No," he mutters, returning the question before he can think better of it, because all of a sudden he  _needs_ to know. "What about you?"

"Me neither," she replies, whispering the syllables against his skin in a way that has him gasping once more. "Not  _yet_ , anyway."

He doesn't dare to wonder, wouldn't dream to  _presume_ , but he's grateful nonetheless when she refocuses her attention on his body, gently caressing the spot which she just bestowed most of her attention upon.

"If it doesn't start to show, I'll just put some more effort into it," she says, almost eagerly, as if she  _hopes_ that it will come to that.

But as they continue to watch, the color of his skin there gradually begins to change. He can't hold back another groan at the sight of it, his body delivering undeniable proof of what she just did for him.

The two of them remain standing very still until the effect of her efforts has fully formed. Even then he can't take his eyes off it, can't stop admiring the surprising darkness of the mark she left, the glorious size of it.

"Now it's my turn," she announces, something in her voice making it sound as if she's looking forward to it.

Without any warning whatsoever, she shrugs off her thin coat, revealing a low-cut shirt of sorts that's practically transparent, leaving nothing to the imagination whatsoever about the bra she's wearing beneath... and of the gentle, pale curves that it contains.

"Are you all right, Mr. Gold?" she asks, almost too innocently.

He nods, not daring to use his voice in fear of yet another part of him betraying what she's doing to him, how she is making him  _want_ , makes him long in a way he has never done before.

"Maybe we should sit down while you fulfill your end of the deal," she suggests, turning to guide him to the cot in the corner. Only then he manages to break his vile gaze away from her breasts. If she has noticed him staring at her chest – she must have – she doesn't indicate so in any way. "Why don't you sit down first?"

That's how he finds himself sitting down on the cot, his back leaning against the wall behind it and his feet dangling awkwardly off the edge. He isn't aware of any of that however when Miss French kicks off her heels and pulls her skirt a few inches higher, the very skirt that was rather short to begin with.

His eyes solely focused on the pale skin of her inner thigh that she has revealed, he can't hold back a whimper when she puts a knee on either side of his thighs, bracing herself on the wall behind him.

"Are you comfortable with this?" she asks, reaching for his still bare chest to trace the gentlest of fingers over the love bite she just left on him.

He nods again. After all, he is not uncomfortable, and a long denied part of him is desperate to know where all of this is leading to.

Miss French settles herself onto his lap unceremoniously, only his light but insistent touch preventing her from pulling her torso flush against his, from getting too close to a barely used part of him that's starting to rear its ugly head at this most incredible of developments.

"Make it as visible as possible," she says, her warm words making him shiver once more.

Only then reminded of why this is happening in the first place, the landlord awkwardly leans forward, the most careful of fingertips brushing questioningly over her skin in an attempt to determine where he should leave his mark.

Their deal is the last thing on his mind however when he touches more of her skin, the texture by far the softest and loveliest he has ever encountered.

"That seems like a good spot, don't you think?" she suggests when his fingers have found a place on her neck where he can feel her pulse, quick and strong.

"It does, yes."

Judging from her enthusiastic nod of encouragement, she isn't disturbed by the ever increasing hoarseness of his voice in the slightest.

"It's fine if you'd bite gently, too," she adds with something that can't possibly be hopefulness. He pretends not to hear it, for she  _surely_ wouldn't mean for him to...

Unable to think of anything but the spot that he's about to kiss, and the woman who has requested him to do so, Mr. Gold brings his lip towards her neck, breathing in the scent of her while he's at it.

Wanting the extraordinary experience to last as long as possible, he takes his sweet time, recalling that she did the same thing. He first only brushes his nose against her neck, savoring the warmth of it, the softness that will probably never cease to amaze him.

Trying not to think of her barely covered upper body as he leans closer into her to be able to reach her properly, the landlord can't suppress a grunt of delight when he brushes his lips against her for the very first time, the very fact that she doesn't withdraw when he all but kisses her awakening something within him he didn't know was there.

Marveling at the feeling of her heartbeat right under his lips, he pecks her neck several times before finding the courage to part his lips ever so slightly and let his tongue dart out to briefly taste her skin.

Falling in love with her slightly salty taste straight away, he repeats the action, and again and again, until he is pressing one open-mouthed kiss against her neck after the other, eventually sucking lightly on her skin.

He initially doesn't hear because of the sounds which are escaping from himself, because he can't believe that she's finding joy in this. But when one of her hands tangles in his hair to keep him right where he is rather than to push him away, when it is joined by its twin almost immediately afterwards, the pawnbroker realizes at last that she's to at least some extent just as happy about these developments as he is himself.

There's no more holding back then, no more reeling in his no longer secret desire for her. His head buried in the crook of her neck and shoulder, he licks and nibbles and sucks on her skin, the sound of her whimpers mixing with his own. He's always careful not to hurt her, but a passion has been woken within him that has him placing his hands on her waist.

Not allowing himself to wonder where this comes from, what it  _means_ and where this might lead to, Mr. Gold blindly surrenders himself for probably the first time in his life. It's a relief of sorts, really, to simply just  _do_ for once rather than to over-think and worry, especially in this particular moment.

He has no idea how or when it happened, but at one point his hands are on her bare skin, exploring her sides and hips more boldly than he ever could have imagined. With the librarian pushing herself more firmly against him, calling out his name in unmistakable approval, for the first time in his life he simply  _lets go._

His hands freely roaming over the curves beneath them and her arms locked behind his neck, it even doesn't seem to matter all that much that there's no way that she isn't feeling his hardness when she shifts closer towards him, straddling his upper thighs and the insistent flesh between them that wordlessly begs for attention.

Eventually there comes a point where he feels that he has to break away from her however, if only because he doesn't want to do any real damage to her skin accidentally. Rather than moving away from her entirely, he rests his head on her shoulder, both to catch his breath and to postpone the moment that he'll have to face her.

Whatever magical craziness that just took place coming to an end, he seeks refuge in this embrace for as long as she is willing to offer it. It's horribly ironic that he has no idea what might happen next, the only thing which truly matters in his life being also the only one he can't make any predictions whatsoever about.

Her hands in his hair are comforting, soothing, wordlessly telling him that she is the opposite of angry with him because of the things that instincts he didn't know he had drove him to do.

It gives him the courage to look up at last, despite having no idea whatsoever what he might tell her, how he perhaps could explain what he just did,  _why_ , what unexplainable force came over him to act so unlike he would under any other circumstances.

"So, how does it look?" she asks with audible tension in her voice.

Swallowing heavily, Mr. Gold is reminded only then of why they did this in the first place, that all of this only happened because of a  _deal_... a deal which has been completed now.

His gaze is drawn to the spot on her neck that he just touched the most, making love to the only part of her that he could. He groans at the sight of it, her previously pale and flawless skin now marked.

"Do you suppose it will do?"

"For what?" he mutters, somewhat aware that he can't tell her that it won't do at all because he doesn't want this to be the first and last time that he touched her like this..

"To persuade Gaston that I have a boyfriend, a  _lover_ , who can make me happy like he never will."

"I... I believe it does... that is, I believe it will," he stammers, feeling like a stone is sinking in his stomach at this reminder that all of this is about her not wanting another man rather than her wanting  _him_.

He should say something,  _do_ something, to at least let her know how much their touches mean to him, how they made him feel. But all he can focus on is the lack of distance between them. He doesn't know whether one or both of them leaned in again or whether they have been like this from the moment he faced her again, but their lips are mere inches away from one another.

The pawnbroker wants to kiss her, to  _taste_ her, to share a  _real_ kiss this time, mouth against mouth and tongue against tongue. He wants it like he has never wanted anything in his life, but even now he only knows too well that he shouldn't. It wasn't part of their deal and, much more importantly, she wouldn't want it,  _couldn't_ want it, not with  _him -_  despite what they have shared already, which she seemingly, amazingly, enjoyed to at least some extent.

"Belle, I..."

He makes a helpless gesture, wordlessly pleading for something he can't quite define himself.

"Mr. Gold, you know what would be yet better than having a pretend boyfriend to keep Gaston at bay?"

"I... I don't know," he mutters.

"To have a  _real_ boyfriend... a  _real_ lover."

He stares at her, blinks once, twice, but her expectant expression doesn't change.

"What are you saying?!" he asks, although somewhere deep inside of him, he already knows the answer. Knowing and believing are two very different things however.

"Do I really need to spell it out for you?" she asks gently, reaching for his face without touching him.

"Did you plan this from the beginning?" he asks, bewildered and disbelieving and beyond hopeful. "Did you come here, hoping that I...  _we_ would..."

"Yes," she simply says, smiling lightly.

"But what...  _how_.."

"By coming to you like this, I hoped that I would be able to... help things along. I've seen the way you look at me, Mr. Gold. But I've also experienced that you don't care about me... or at least, you  _act_ like you don't care about me. So I decided to do some acting of my own, and see what would happen."

The pawnbroker doesn't know what to think of her words, or rather, he doesn't dare to believe them. But there's no mistaking her intent, and the genuineness of it, when she caresses his hair with one hand and his cheek with the other.

"I must say the events of the past hour or so have been very... revealing," she adds, lowering one of her hands to brush the mark she left on him.

"They most certainly have been," he rasps, recalling that both her and his own actions betrayed their apparent feelings for each other from the very first moment she stepped into his shop.

"Would you like to be my very real boyfriend, Mr. Gold?"

" _Yes_ ," he breathes, shakily nodding his head.

"Wonderful," she whispers, leaning in to him to bridge the last inches between them.

Closing the final distance between them at the same time to meet her in the middle, Mr. Gold eagerly returns her kiss.


End file.
